


That's It, Then

by Dat_Patriot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dat_Patriot/pseuds/Dat_Patriot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home to find someone back from the grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's It, Then

John dropped the bags he’d been carrying home from Tesco’s to the floor.

“Hello, John.”

Ah, there it was--that too familiar voice of a man who he thought to be dead. Knew to be dead. Was dead. Not anymore.

Sherlock sat in his arm chair, the neck of his violin resting carefully against his collar bone like a shield while he twirled the bow in tight circles with his other hand. He did not look at John.

Taking a deep breath, John shut the door behind him. The air in the room was stifling. He certainly was having difficulty breathing. He swallowed thickly.

“So that’s it, then?”

Sherlock looked at him then, a surprising amount of vacancy in his normally sharp and all-knowing gaze. It was as if he was expecting something… else.  Anger, questions, violence, denials, something loud, something that hurt…

But that was John. Always full of surprises.

Then held eye contact for a moment—deep blue meeting icy gray for what could have been an eternity compacted into mere seconds.

“Obviously.”

John broke the gaze then, turning his head as he often did in thought followed by his accustomed pursing of his lips. He was cross to say the least. His shoulders heaved; the creases in his forehead were deep and defined. Sherlock had missed that expressive face. It was refreshing to have something so easy to read on the outside but infuriatingly complex on the inside.

After another few seconds of breathing in silence, John stooped and picked up his felled bags and dragged then into the kitchen and set them onto the counter where a replaced microscope now sat, Petri dishes already labeled. Clearly it hadn’t taken long for Sherlock to weasel back into his old habits before he… left.

“No more heads in the fridge.” John said, a sense of finality in the tone.

Without a moment’s hesitation Sherlock replied, “Done.”

“No experiments with the kettle.”

“Conceded.”

There was a brief pause as John stuffed a box of wafers in the top cupboard.

“No running off without me.”

It was a loaded statement. Not a question, not a bargain. So many pieces of so many phrases snipped off and rearranged were formed into that one statement. It was a contract, in reality. Binding. Non-negotiable, but one that John was willing to make. John was giving him one final chance at redemption. One last chance at reinstating the Detective-and-his-Doctor duo.

Sherlock couldn’t help the lopsided grin that bloomed on his face.

“I’d be lost without my blogger.”

John turned then, meeting Sherlock’s eyes once more, their previous hostility gone and now only a question remained.  Sherlock knew it would take a while for that question to leave. That constant trepidation. Will he be here tomorrow? One day that wouldn’t be a question. John would know that he would always be back.

In a swift movement Sherlock stood from his chair and placed his violin in its case, the bow resting on top of it. He strode to the coat hanger and wound his blue scarf around his neck before shrugging on his coat. He looked up to John as he did up his buttons, his expression confused with just the barest hint of concern. Sherlock smiled.

“Dinner?”

Some tension left John’s frame and he shook his head, smiling tightly he gave the only possible reply, “Oh, God, yes.”

 

=x END x=

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I thought of once... after reading of John punching, yelling, smashing, fiercely making out with Sherlock, I thought...  
> What if he just begrudgingly accepted it? He had with almost every other thing Sherlock messed with in his life. He doesn't forgive him, he doesn't trust him, but he rolls with it. Because that's what John Watson does, soldier on.


End file.
